Real Flash Mobs
by VampireKissesxoxoxo
Summary: What was the GAP worker thinking when the Dalton Warblers performed during his job? ONESHOT. R&R!


**Real Flash Mobs Are Nothing Like The Ones Portrayed On YouTube**

Today is going to be a bad day, I can just tell.

I woke up, dressed, and rushed over to my job at the local GAP. Late again, but I don't care. I'm already struggling for cash, so why should I have time stressing me, too? Besides, it's not like my manager would care.

I walk briskly around the store, checking to see if any picky shoppers had ruined the folded piles of shirts. As I do, I notice a couple of guys in matching outfits slowly enter the store.

Great. Another gang. There seemed to be a lot passing through Ohio lately. Last time, it was a group of surprisingly conservative bikers, and they made a huge mess.

Soon after that, a few more of the latter enter, separating from their group quickly to check out the racks of clothing.

One, however, stands near the front of the store. His dark hair is gelled, his expression solemn. As I walked past a table laden down with jeans, he sucks in a breath and...points? In my general direction, no less!

All at once, the uniformed boys nearest the front of the store begin harmonizing a strange tune. The customers around the store look around, trying to find the source of the weird sound.

Before I know what's going on, the gelled man is approaching me. Acting fast, I grab a few clothes and calmly walk away from him. I pass through two clothing racks before I realize that he's following after me, like a loyal puppy to its owner. And he's...singing?

_Baby girl, where you at?_

_Got no strings, got men attached_

_Can't stop that feeling for long, no_

_Mmmm..._

I freeze in front of a mannequin I'm adjusting, watching him in great disbelief.

Simultaneously, three of his friends pop up from a hiding spot behind a display table, harmonizing as he dances and continues.

_You makin' dogs wanna beg_

_Breaking them off your fancy legs_

_But they make you feel right at home, now_

Just then, my manager begins whispering into his walkie-talkie, directly into my ear, "Huge line-up at checkout. Get over there and be our back-up cashier, hmm?" Clearly, he wasn't amused by this.

I rush away, just as the boy tried approaching me again.

As I quickly logged into a computer at the front, more and more uniformed boys pop up around the store. The customers are no longer browsing; they're just standing around now, watching the show with great amusement.

Now the guy's standing on a table. What a lunatic. Someone ought to get him out of here. I look over to Nelson and Peter, but they're too busy watching it happen to do anything.

The lady whom I'm cashiering for demands for me to find her shirt in another size. Sighing, I head towards the table of clothes she'd gotten it from, only to realize that the man (and his suited friends) are following me again. I grab at the right sized shirt and hastily head away.

Can't the guy just quit it already? This isn't funny.

I hand off the shirt to Philip, who took over the computer while I was gone. My manager now wants me to fix up a mannequin near the front, so I head up.

The guy follows me, his friends a crowd of blue and red behind him. I look over my shoulder to see if he's following me, only to be practically herded back to the cashiers.

Two of his friends, wearing GAP-brand sunglasses, look pointedly at me as they sidestepped me, leaving him standing in front of me, singing at the top of his lungs with great confidence.

_When I get you alone_

_When I get you you'll know, baby_

_When I get you alone_

_When I get you alone now_

His friends create a formation around the middle of the store. He follows after them. I head back to the cashiers, not knowing what else to do.

Once again, he's on a table. God damn him. He's going to get me fired, I just know it.

As customers looked on, some of them even clapping, I can't help but gasp at the lyrics.

_Baby girl, you da sh..._

_That makes you my equivalent_

_Well, you can keep your toys in the drawer tonight_

_All right..._

He jumps off the table and, with the help of two of his cronies, ruins the placement of the sales racks. I can't help but notice, near me, that one of his friends is getting too friendly with a mannequin, bumping it with his side as if they're old pals.

The boys somehow have unbolted the mannequins from the floor, as they are now wheeling them around, completely ruining the display we'd worked so hard to make. I take this time to sneak past the singing freak, and head back behind the cashiers.

The man's back in the middle of the store, much to my manager's chagrin. He and his friends are in perfect harmony and formation, making me believe that this was planned. Damn flash mobs. I've seen this stuff on YouTube, but I've never thought that it would be as annoying as this one...

I watch, irritated, as one of them backflips off a table. Great. Just perfect. I'm so getting fired for not stopping this, but what can I do? These guys are insane, and probably have broken out of some facility. That's probably why they're wearing matching clothes.

Damn, kid, get off the tables! Seriously. His friends are sitting around him as he does a little dance on the table, belting out the lyrics because he doesn't have a microphone. Thank God he doesn't have one, at least.

The customers are all dancing with them, I notice bitterly. We've officially lost them. I wonder if this is what heroines in sci-fi movies feel like when everyone they love is brainwashed or whatever.

Quickly, just as my manager steps out of his office, the guy slides over to my computer, clutching a pair of socks. He straightens up, smiling smugly as his audience applauds.

* * *

**A/N**: Read and review, please!


End file.
